


Simple Pleasures

by thecookiemomma



Category: NCIS
Genre: Character Study, Gen, NFA Challenge Response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecookiemomma/pseuds/thecookiemomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leroy Jethro Gibbs is not a complicated man.  Written for NFA's "At your Service" challenge, and inspired by Robert W. Service's poem, "Cabbage Patch."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Pleasures

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a complicated man. He didn't have high aspirations. Never had. Simple pleasures were pretty much his thing. He loved being a husband and father, but when that was taken away, he'd buried himself in his work. He'd married and pleased Lady Justice, so to speak. Reconnecting with his father was one of the better things he'd done, just because for all his bluff and bravado, Jackson Gibbs was a pretty simple man, too. 

“It's not rocket science, Leroy. You comin', or not?” Jackson stood behind the counter of his store, holding up a dirty dust rag. 

“Wasn't plannin' on it, but if you've told folks I'm comin', I'd better, hadn't I?” Jethro knew he was being obstinate – or obstreperous and obtuse, his internal Ducky-voice said – but couldn't find it in himself to act more mature. To be honest, annoying his father was one of those simple pleasures. 

“I could tell them you couldn't make it, dumbass! I make excuses for you all the time. Got used to it. Knew it was my own damn fault, so I did it with grace.” Jackson looked up at him, and his blue eyes flashed with regret. 

“Aw, hell, dad...” Jethro relented. “I'll go. You mind the kids there, or not?” He looked over at his father, pausing in his stacking of cans to gaze at him for along moment. 

“Your team? Certainly. I'd have to get more tickets. But I can do that. They're only five dollars a pop. That's not much at all. And I don't mind supporting the school. So, what... six more?” 

“Five, Dad. Ducky, Abby, Ziva, Tony and Tim.” He counted them out on his fingers just to be sure. 

“Five more. All right.” 

Jethro pulled out a twenty and handed it over, eyes bright with mirth. “Don't say I never gave you nothin'.” 

“Gimme that,” his father groused, though he saw the laughter in his eyes, too. He took the bill from Jethro's hand. “You hungry?” 

“Yeah.” Gibbs nodded, and the two men went around the corner to the house to eat.

* * * 

Two weeks later, the team came back up to Stillwater to attend the talent show at the high school. “Do we know anybody here, Boss?” Tony asked, looking around, seeming to need to scan for danger. Gibbs slapped his head, albeit gently.

“Not specifically, DiNozzo. Know most of the parents, though.” And wasn't that a kick in the ass. “Not on duty. Settle down. Dad asked us up here to support the school. They're havin' trouble gettin' some of the supplies they need, so they're doin' a talent show and bake sale.” 

“That's so old timey.” Abby gushed. She'd dressed fairly conservatively for her, and Gibbs was glad. “That's awesome, Gibbs. It's like barn raisings. Everybody pitching in. It's part of what makes our country great, don't you think?” She waved her arms around her, and a couple of the people around stared at her, though not as much as they might have had she gone with her normal attire. He grinned at her, nodding in agreement. 

Ducky decided to put his two cents in. “It is not specifically American, Abigail, though you seem to have perfected it to an art form, at least in your pioneer stages.” He smiled, doffing his movie-archeologist's hat. “It's a time honored tradition the world over, but with typical efficiency, you have made it a community action, rather than a community attitude. Many places build together and grow together, but the barn raisings were typical of...” He cut off as they entered the building, and they made their way more or less silently to the gymnasium where the talent show was being put on. 

“Oh, nice lights,” Tim gazed up at the technical doohickeys, and Gibbs grinned internally. His team was so predictable sometimes, but that, too was a simple pleasure. The rhythm they had as a team was a good one. 

They enjoyed the show, watching various musical acts, dancing acts, flashy light tricks that almost gave Gibbs a headache – they reminded him a little too much of flash bangs – and other things. Finally, at the end of the program, one young man stood up, and spoke. 

 

“Robert William Service was a man who traveled much, accomplished much, and eventually became known as the 'Bard of the Yukon.' In the times of Jack London and the other dreamers who traveled, Service had this to say about his home. I will read to you his poem, 'The Cabbage Patch.'” 

He inhaled, and spoke again, this time, his changing voice seemed to deepen just a bit, as though he were trained in elocution. Gibbs glanced over at Ducky who was definitely enjoying it. He listened to the words, and realized he enjoyed it too. It described him fairly well. 

“Folk ask if I'm alive,  
Most think I'm not;  
Yet gaily I contrive  
To till my plot.  
The world its way can go,  
I little heed,  
So long as I can grow  
The grub I need.

“For though long overdue,  
The years to me,  
Have taught a lesson true,  
\--Humility.  
Such better men than I  
I've seen pass on;  
Their pay-off when they die;  
\--Oblivion.

“And so I mock at fame,  
With books unread;  
No monument I claim  
When I am dead;  
Contented as I see  
My cottage thatch  
That my last goal should be  
\--A cabbage patch.”

Gibbs half-listened to the rest of the show, the awards, the comments and the cheers. He sat back, pondering the poem. That was about right. Except, he was making a difference in people's lives. He was returning hope to children, giving closure to grieving parents, restoration to families. That was a little more than a cabbage patch. 

His musings were interrupted when he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. “I have a copy of his poems at home, Jethro, if you'd like to borrow it.” 

“Might do that. Thanks, Duck.” Gibbs shook his head, cleared away the cobwebs, and grinned. “Dad, that ice cream place still open? He saw the look in his father's eyes, and knew it was. “Go look through the goodies, buy something, and we'll go get some ice cream.” 

“Ooh, Boss. Think they'll have mint chocolate chip?” 

“You ever know an ice cream shop not to have mint chocolate chip, DiNozzo?” Gibbs rolled his eyes, but was amused. 

“No, Boss.” They all migrated toward the bake sale. “Oooh.” Tony continued his commentary, just as expected. 

Getting to headslap the kid when he got out of hand? That was a simple pleasure too.


End file.
